Waves of Fury (Surviving Earth Chronicles)

Chapter Three

Kellen

V oices can be heard down the hallway, pulling me from my work. Time has passed by quickly in a blur as I cleaned out my inbox and it’s nearly noon. Between emails, I’d managed to place my food order, but it still hasn’t arrived thirty minutes later despite a fifteen-minute promised window.

I should have had Frannie grab me something from the fish place.

Thunder rumbles in the distance and I’m secretly pleased I wasn’t imagining storm clouds earlier. Sure enough, as I turn to face the windows, the sky has darkened over the bay, clouds churning in an ominous way.

Great. My sandwich is not only going to be cold but wet, too.

I attempt to cancel my order, but it shows the delivery is in progress. I’m about to contact customer service when my phone beeps with a local weather alert.

Severe weather expected by 1PM. Thunderstorms with lightning and moderate winds. Wind advisory is in effect until 7PM with gusts ranging from 35-39 mph. Stay safe, San Francisco!

As if to punctuate the alert, wind whistles outside my windows. This isn’t the first storm to roll through the bay area and it certainly won’t be the last. So why can’t I shake this strange, unsettled feeling? I’m no longer convinced it’s the coffee.

Abandoning my perch at the windows, I turn my television back on. It’s no longer the morning show or the daily soaps that typically come on at this time. They’ve interrupted with real news people reporting live from Seattle.

“As you can see by the poor lighting here at the station, we are without power after that significant earthquake and are relying on our generators to bring you the news. At this time, we’re unsure of the extent of the damages. There are calls coming in from all over about the Space Needle that has reportedly collapsed. Of course we’ll be on this story as it unfolds.”

I pull my phone from my suit jacket and search the internet for “Space Needle Collapse.” Several videos are already posted. Clicking on one of them, I watch as someone walking nearby films the ground shaking and commenting on the earthquake but then begins screaming. The camera bounces all around as they yell, “It’s going to fall! Holy shit, it’s going to fall!” He swoops the view up to the Space Needle. Sure enough, a deafening sound can be heard as it begins to crumple as if made of Legos.

My stomach grumbles. I abandon the video to check on my food. Closer to my building but not quite here yet.

“Earthquakes happen all the time,” one of the reporters on the TV says, “and unfortunately, sometimes the damages are significant. We strongly urge you not to panic. Let the first responders do their jobs. To be safe, remain indoors.”

Thud.

Jerking my head toward the windows, I frown when I don’t see anything. Is the wind picking up already enough to send debris flying around up here?

Thud.

Not debris. A bird. Another one. This one leaves a bloody smear behind.

“What the hell?” I mutter.

Thud.

Thud, thud, thud.

Thud, thud, thud, thud, thud.

One after the other, birds of different sizes and shapes slam into my windows.

And then silence.

My ears start to ring and then an uncomfortable pressure builds in the canals. I open my mouth and move my jaw in an attempt to get my ears to pop. A sharp pain flares behind my eyes like the beginnings of a severe sinus-induced migraine.

“Frannie,” I call out, pinching the bridge of my nose.

She bustles into my office, holding her palms over her ears. “Do you feel that?”

“Storm is rolling in,” I say, motioning for the bloody windows. “Probably pressure from that. I just had a dozen or so birds hit my windows.”

Her round cheeks that are always rosy with too much blush pale at my words. “Ron called a bit ago and told me to come home. He’s worrying over nothing, right, Kellen?”

“Of course,” I say quickly, though I don’t fully believe my words. “It’s just a storm and will blow over.”

“What about Seattle?”

“Earthquakes happen all the time,” I say, parroting the news report from earlier. “It’s unfortunate but not uncommon.”

She nods but doesn’t lose the frown. “There’s also talk of an imminent volcanic eruption up in Yellowstone. If it goes, that’s going to be horrible for those people.”

“Everything will be fine. Don’t get caught up in the news stories. They’re known for connecting anything they can to the asteroid of ’73.”

“Don’t worry, hon, I’m not going to turn into a moon maniac.” She chuckles, though it sounds forced. “I told Ron with the expected winds we’re to be receiving, it’s probably safer for me to stay at work than to be out in it. Don’t you agree?”

“Absolutely.”

I’m agreeing for purely selfish reasons. I wouldn’t be able to handle losing Frannie getting run over by some overly excited moonie. I can almost bet the shoes on my feet that Ron would find the sense in that argument.

“You’re not looking so hot,” Frannie says, walking over to me, eyes crinkled in concern. “Did you eat yet?”

My stomach audibly grumbles the answer.

She chuckles and shakes her head. “See, if you’d been brave, you could have had the best fried shrimp I have ever tasted.”

“My food will be here soon. I’ll be fine with my meatballs, thank you very much.”

Her phone at her desk rings loudly. She excuses herself with a tight smile, rushing to answer it. I go to check the app again on the progress of my sub when I’m distracted by another news alert text.

Massive sinkhole devastates downtown Cincinnati, Ohio.

Kyle’s not going to like that one.

The commercial break seems oddly out of place on TV considering the nationwide weather phenomena and natural disasters that are happening. I’d like to think the sinkhole in Ohio is a tad bit more important than a pill to help with erectile disfunction. I flip to another station that’s on location, a frantic reporter waving toward the sinkhole destruction. She’s attempting to hide the panicky edge in her voice, but her eyes are glittering with fear.

What the hell is happening?

Has the moon finally decided to unleash its fury we’ve been promised for the last half century?

Most importantly, where’s my damn sandwich?

Needing a distraction, I make the decision to call my brother. We’re not exactly close and that’s on me, but it doesn’t mean I’m any less worried about him. I hit his contact on my phone and wait for it to connect.

It rings and rings until I’m sent to voicemail.

Great.

Did he change his number? Is he screening my calls? Or, worse yet, is there something going on in south Texas I don’t know about? My gut sours and I’m thankful I don’t have any food in it yet. I consider dialing Dad next. The thought is gone in the next instant. Even the end of the world isn’t enough to get me to speak to him ever again.

It’s fine. Knox is fine. Everything is fine.

You always were good at lying to yourself, Kellen.

The lights flicker several times but remain on. I toss my phone onto the desk and stalk back over to the windows. Rain has begun to pelt the glass, washing away the bloody bird residue. With the increasingly darkening skies and wind speeds picking up, the bay sloshes violently, much like the remaining coffee in my stomach.

I groan as another blast of pressure makes it feel as though my eardrums are going to pop. What the hell is even happening?

Outside, the clouds roil and dip lower and lower until they seem to swallow the bay altogether. Unlike the usual fog that rolls in, these clouds rumble with thunder and flash with lightning. I’ve never seen anything like it.

Grumble.

This rumbling comes from within me rather than outdoors. My stomach is not impressed with the magnificent view. I swear to God if I have to go down a floor and eat from a vending machine in the company break room because my sandwich is being held hostage, I’m going to lose my mind.

I feel as though I’m caught in a constant, never-ending loop of wanting to call Knox and Dad over and over again but barely refraining, marveling over the terrible storm battering outside, and checking the news for any developments.

And yet, still no sandwich.

This is the Monday-est Friday ever.